


Aftermath

by DragonDancer5150



Category: Mystery Case Files (Video Games)
Genre: Drama, Gen, POV Male Character, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonDancer5150/pseuds/DragonDancer5150
Summary: Alister's defeated at last - case closed? Not quite. There's still the unnatural brand, the dead body, the woman trapped in a storage room, and an exhausted Master Detective who'll end up back at the lunatic asylum if someone doesn't ID and vouch for him first. COMPLETE





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: By necessity, every game ends with the wrap-up of the main plot but not always of all its loose ends. This is nowhere more evident, at least to me, than with MCF: Ravenhearst Unlocked. Here's my take on, as Paul Harvey would have put it, "the rest of the story." Also, people and circumstances here follow what I set up in "In Her Majesty's Service". This story might make a little more sense (who Thomas is, how the Master Detective knows him, etc) after reading that one.
> 
> Canonically, the Master Detective's gender is not known for sure, though general fandom seems to have set him/her as being female. For myself, however, I have always viewed the POV character as male, and it is from that perspective that I write.
> 
> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

_"Case closed . . . Master Detective."_

Darnell blinked the last of the blindness away to note green grass under him. He was crouched on hands and knees. Somehow, he wasn't in the cavern anymore.

_Ellen . . . ?_

Looking up, he found himself on the cliff's edge beyond Ravenhearst's cemetery. In front of him, the medieval town sank back under the ocean's waves, once more leaving not a trace that it had ever existed. Behind it, the sun was just slipping into the horizon, accentuating the sinking town.

The detective sat back on his heels, face in his bandaged hands. He was so tired, both physically and mentally wrung out. He'd only barely escaped death yet again, this time thanks solely to Ellen.

_And . . . Alister . . . ?_

The stylized raven skull branded on his forearm ached, the cut in the heel of his palm burning under the bandages. His skull throbbed from the goose egg on the side of his head. His whole body hurt.

_Is he really gone this time? Really? How can I even be sure?_

Time lost meaning, twilight deepening around him much like the gloom attempting to settle within. He didn't move for so long that his legs from the knees down lost feeling. He didn't care. He was too exhausted for the moment to care. He didn't even react when he thought he heard a car pull up and stop somewhere in the distance behind him. It wasn't until voices reached him that he began shaking himself from his malaise.

"That's him. Careful, sir! He could be dangerous."

"Rubbish. Barrett!"

Darnell didn't recognize the first voice, but the second he knew all too well. It was Thomas. Officer Thomas Blackwell, his agent handler. And dear friend. Darnell huffed softly, the breath coming out a near-sob of exhausted relief - he wasn't alone out here anymore. He turned to look over his shoulder and spotted Thomas, along with a police constable, quickly approaching from the ruins of the house. The night was clear and full of stars, but the pair still carried flashlights to keep from tripping over broken gravestones and other debris.

Not to mention the dead body.

"Gwendolyn . . . I don't know if she legally changed her name or not, so either Sommerset or Dalimar. Or Caldwell." Darnell couldn't remember just then which sister had technically married poor Benedict. "You should find her twin Charlotte at the Manchester Lunatic Asylum, if you haven't already."

"We found her. She told us you'd come back here." The constable folded his arms and nodded at the body. "And killed her sister."

"Nonsense," Thomas asserted with a growl. "Or if he did, it was in self-defense."

"It wasn't me." Darnell tried to stand, but his numb legs wouldn't work and he wound up on his side, propped up on his bad hand. "Ow." His head swam from the failed effort.

Thomas was at his side in an instant, dropping to a knee. "Barrett!" The officer put a steadying hand on his shoulder as he righted himself a bit more. "Bloody hell, man, you look like-" He stopped, visibly catching himself from glancing at the local constable.

Most people were told they look 'like hell.' By many of his colleagues in the Royal Agency, Darnell was usually told he looked 'like Blackpool,' the nearest town to the site of what were consistently his most horrific and trying cases. More rightly, they should say 'like Ravenhearst,' but no one was that insensitive.

Darnell leaned gratefully on his friend, grimacing at the pins-and-needles burn as feeling returned to his lower legs. "Alister. It was Alister."

The constable frowned, pulling out a folder he'd been carrying tucked under one arm. "The looney talked a lot about some kind of arch-enemy. I think that was the name." He seemed to locate the information and nodded. "Yeah, here. Alister Dalimar."

Thomas's expression turned stormy as he gazed up, his tone hard. "'The looney' has a name, constable. He is Special Agent Darnell Barrett, he is in fact a master detective, and I will thank you to hand over that file. By order of the Queen. I will also be confiscating any other information you have on Master Detective Barrett, and any copies will be destroyed. Do I make myself clear?"

The constable stiffened, obviously unhappy, but he was in no position to deny an operative of the Royal Security Service. "Perfectly, sir."

"Good." Thomas pulled Darnell's near arm around his shoulders. "Come on, Barrett. On three."

Darnell clung more than he liked as his friend hauled him to his feet, needing a moment to find his balance before he could stand on his own. "Thanks, Blackwell." He gazed down at himself, at the drab asylum pants and shirt - with leather straps and buckles for restraint - over dirty blue loafers. He turned to the constable. Part of him wanted to growl at the man for the whole 'dangerous looney' thing. Could not the constable tell his seeming delirium was just because he'd had a concussion and been in shock at the time? But he didn't have the energy or the coping ability left for now to argue. "My clothes?"

"All of your personal effects are back at Manchester, Master Detective. Though they're in about as good of a condition as one would expect from a prolonged dunk in the ocean."

Darnell grimaced, thinking about all his case notes, his crime computer… "My wallet? My badge?"

The constable shook his head, finally showing a little sympathy. "You had no identification on you when you was pulled from the drink, sir. You was babbling about dark magic, an arch-enemy, twisted twins…" His voice trailed off as he looked over his shoulder at the body of Gwendolyn. "Although I suppose we can now corroborate at least part of your story."

 "You don't need to corroborate anything, Constable Cooper," Thomas told him. "The Royal Agency is taking things over from here. For now, call an ambulance. And a coroner. Go." The constable moved off to make his phone calls, leaving the two operatives to talk.


	2. Backup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

Thomas turned to Darnell, still supporting him. "Darnell . . . " He pulled the detective into a tight hug. "Blimey, kid, I thought we'd lost you this time."

Even within the Royal Agency, Thomas was one of the few who knew - and believed - the strange and often classified details of even his most esoteric cases and how truly dangerous they could be. Darnell managed a weak laugh, returning the older man's embrace. "I'm a bad penny, Thomas. I just keep turning back up."

"You'd better keep turning back up, you rogue!" Thomas pushed him back just then, looking at him, the concern clear in his eyes. "She should never have sent you back out here, especially to _this_ cursed place." He gestured to indicate the ruined manor. "Let alone by yourself. Everyone's been worried sick about you. And Barker. Did you ever meet up with him? Agent Barker?" Thomas looked him over, frowning as he spotted something. He caught up Darnell's right wrist, turning it palm-up. "The hell is that on your arm, mate?"

Darnell jerked his wrist free, a bit more forcefully than he'd meant to, and covered his branded forearm with his other hand, scowling and self-conscious. And angry. "He marked me. That monster _marked me_!" He swayed, exhaustion threatening to get the better of him. "I-I need to sit down."

Thomas caught him around the shoulders and led him to one of the large rocks jutting from the ground. The two settled, Thomas giving Darnell his coat to cover up a bit. Darnell accepted it with a low word of thanks, then was quiet for a long moment, looking around at the once-more ruined house - good riddance! - the broken remains of cemetery, the twin chains of what had once been a swing hanging from the nearby tree. He'd taken the plank . . . hours ago, he had no idea how long ago that had been now.

"She should _only_ have sent me." Darnell's voice was low, as low as his spirits, but also rocksteady in his conviction. "No one else should have been sent here, especially to this place. Including Barker." He nodded, gaze on his hands laced between his knees, elbows braced on his thighs. "I met up with him, briefly. He wanted to show me something, something that had him terrified, but we got separated, and then he was murdered before he could tell me anything." He looked up at Thomas then. "Anyone with me would have been targeted from the start, ambushed and killed like Barker was, to fuel their soul machine . . . and, probably, to hurt me." He shook his head. "I work these cases alone, Thomas. For exactly that reason. I knew I would when I accepted the queen's offer. I have a hard enough time looking out for myself a lot of times. I can't be worrying about someone else too."

"That 'someone else' wouldn't just be some random sod pulled into things on accident, Darnell. They'd be a trained agent like you are, someone who'd have your back as much as you'd have theirs."

Darnell huffed, not in the mood for this argument. It wasn't the first time they'd had it. "I know." He scrubbed his fingers along his jaw - the stubble was getting long enough to itch. How long had it been since he'd seen a razor?

Thomas gave him a wry grin, thankfully changing subjects. "You need a good shave, Barrett." He deepened his voice to say it, shifting the pattern of his speech slightly.

Darnell laughed out loud, recognizing the impersonation of their boss. "I need a good shower, is what I need."

"Well, for now, you'll have to settle for a good paramedic, Master Detective." Constable Cooper approached them again. "An ambulance should be here in five to ten. I'll stay to deal with the coroner. I will, however, want a statement when you're-" He saw the look Thomas gave him and stopped, frowning. "Officer Blackwell will no doubt want a statement from you when you're a bit more recovered, sir," he corrected himself.

"Thank you, Constable Cooper." Thomas looked at Darnell. "Think you can walk?"

Darnell frowned, trying to take honest stock of himself. He wasn't injured really, at least not aside from the knot on his head and all the cuts and bruises he'd sustained from his headlong dash though the chambers under Ravenhearst and subsequent dive into the ocean. Plus the brand on his arm, and a few more bruises from the Well of Souls cavern collapsing – miraculously, and in no small part thanks to Ellen, he'd escaped anything more serious.  But he was fatigued almost past the ability to cope. This case had taken everything out of him. His stomach clenched with hunger, reminding him that he had no idea when he'd eaten last. "I…I think so," he finally ventured to say.

Thomas studied him a moment, then nodded. "Let's head out front, then. We'll meet the paramedics there, so they don't have to try to navigate this mess."

Darnell barked a low, sardonic laugh. "Oh, like I should have to."

"Hey, you made the mess." The crooked grin on Thomas's face said he wasn't serious. "C'mon, mate."

Thomas helped Darnell to his feet again, giving him an elbow to lean on, and together the two operatives picked their way through the rubble and remains of furniture and machinery. Gaining the front yard, Darnell paused to look back at the broken portico. 'House That Love Built' could still be read on the face. Shuddering, he turned and let Thomas help him down the long stairs, past the well and the welcome statue of Emma, and Charlotte's car that he'd 'borrowed' from the asylum in his desperate race against Tanatos. He wondered if his own car, his beloved classic Silver Streak, was still sitting at the lighthouse gate where he'd left it what felt like a month ago now. _Probably been impounded by now_ , he thought. _Darn. I'll have to ask Thomas about getting her back too._ He wondered for a moment that no one had thought to identify him by his car, but then, so many people had gone missing here – had been murdered here – that he couldn't really fault anyone for not tying the car to one random survivor out of so many. And, Darnell thought with a pang of grief for them all, there had been many indeed.


	3. Appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

The ambulance arrived just then. Two paramedics gave him a cursory once-over before packing him into the back. He was thankful that they didn't make him lie on the gurney. And that they allowed Thomas to ride along - not that the officer and his badge gave them much choice. Arrival at the little community clinic was more awkward, as some of the staff on duty recognized him from his last trip. Darnell did his best to ignore the ill-concealed looks of judgment and reproof – the 'barking nutter' was back.

The doctor – Ashcraft according to his nametag – gave Darnell an arched look when he stepped into the exam room, closing the door behind him and giving Thomas only a cursory nod of greeting. "You're looking a little more…lucid…than you were a few days ago."

Darnell gave him a mirthless grin, a caustic tone edging his words. "Head injuries can do that to a person. I'm not delusional anymore, if that's what you're worried about." Not that he'd been delusional then, either – just talking far too freely about things he really needed not to – but easier to just let the doctor think he had been.

"Mm-hm." There was a clear 'I'll be the judge of that' in Dr. Ashcraft's tone and look, which only further aggravated Darnell, and the fatigue was doing nothing to help his mood or his ability to cope with the attitudes he kept getting. Rather than respond, though, he pressed his lips and kept his silence. As with the constable, arguing would just make things worse, and he hadn't the energy for it. A glance at Thomas told the detective that his friend was similarly holding his tongue for expediency's sake.

Dr. Ashcraft took Darnell's vitals, checked his eyes for signs of concussion, and cleaned the wounds on his face and head. He unwrapped the detective's left hand and forearm, checking the cuts and bruises, cleaning them, and rewrapped the limb in fresh bandaging. He caught up Darnell's right arm but stopped in shock at the sight of the burnt-away bandages around the stylized raven skull. Frowning, he looked up at Darnell. "What the bloody hell have you been up to?"

As he'd done with Thomas, Darnell yanked back his arm, hugging it to his hip, self-conscious and angry all over again. But he didn't get a chance to reply.

"That's classified, doctor." Thomas had stood at the question and was holding up his badge. "My name is Officer Thomas Blackwell with the Royal Security Service. The detective here is one of my agents. He was undercover when he was brought in last week." He grinned, though there was a hardness to it. "I'd say he fooled you pretty well to keep his cover from being blown, going so far as to let you send him to that damned asylum, even." He met the doctor's gaze steadily, then glanced at Darnell when the doctor turned. 'Go with it', the look said.

At the doctor's questioning expression, Darnell just offered a wry grin and a small shrug. "What can I say? I was desperate and got creative." If only he could pull off such 'creativity' when he actually had to. In reality, he'd make a terrible undercover agent – he lied about as effectively as a bowling ball bounced.

Dr. Ashcraft glanced between them but couldn't ignore the officer's badge and wisely dropped the subject with a shake of his head. The brand looked more like tooled leather than a burn – that should have been raw still for how fresh it was – but the doctor cleaned and put a healing salve on it anyway, and on the surgical site in Darnell's wrist and heel of his palm, then rewrapped the limb as he had the left. Two of the stitches in the heel had torn open, but there really wasn't much to be done about that unless he stabilized the hand completely.

"If there's nothing else . . . ?" Thomas looked as ready to be out of there as Darnell was.

Dr. Ashcraft looked at Darnell, glancing at the detective's right arm. "Unless there's anything else I should know about . . . "

Darnell covered the arm uneasily with his other hand. "No, doctor. Nothing more than minor aches and bruises." And a very demanding sense of fatigue.

The doctor nodded, turning to Thomas. "Then he'll be free to go as soon as the paperwork is completed."

"Good. The Royal Agency will handle payment of his medical expenses. Please have all invoices and a complete copy of his medical records sent here." Thomas handed over a business card out of his wallet.

Knowing his agent handler, Darnell figured Thomas would also be sending someone to lock or expunge his files – here and also at Manchester. He certainly hoped, anyway. He really didn't need all of this on his record. Especially the part about having been committed to a lunatic asylum.

Once cleared, Thomas phoned for a taxi, then let Darnell lean on him again as they left the clinic to meet their ride at the curb. He studied Darnell as they sat on a bench. "You look a mite knackered, mate." From the concern in his eyes, he knew how much of an understatement that was.

Darnell managed a weak grin. "If I fall over, just leave me. I'll wake back up in a year or two."

"I'll be sure to fetch you a blanket."

"I'd be much obliged."

The two fell into comfortable silence, Darnell finding it harder and harder to stay awake, until the taxi arrived. Thomas helped Darnell in, and merciful blackness took the detective before the taxi had pulled back out into traffic.


	4. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

"Ugh. This whole thing's even more balls up than I thought."

Darnell had already felt himself starting to court consciousness when the muttered complaint brought him around the rest of the way. He shifted, finding himself prone with only the vaguest recollection of reaching a hotel room and faceplanting on the nearest bed to pass back out for good. He wasn't sure he'd even paused long enough to kick off his asylum-issue loafers first.  With a soft groan, he pulled his elbows under him, then rolled onto a hip, propping himself up to take in the room – modest with two beds, a long, low dresser, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall, a desk in the corner, and a small bathroom visible through a door opposite him.

Sitting in the desk chair, Thomas looked up from his laptop with a small, crooked grin. "Welcome back, Master Detective. Wasn't sure there for a while if you'd just passed out or died on me."

"Ha ha," Darnell deadpanned. He sat up, thankful that the exhaustion seemed to have let up with the sleep he'd gotten – _how long was I out, anyway?_ Now he just felt like he'd been worked over by a prison gang wielding baseball bats.  He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease out some of the stiffness. "Where are we?"

"A Premier Lodge in Preston. We're just a little out from Blackpool, and about an hour from Manchester. We'll swing through there first, stop at the asylum for the rest of your belongings, then head back to London."

Darnell frowned. "The rest?" He would have called that the first.  Everything else he'd brought with him had been in his suitcase in the trunk of his car, wherever that was at this point.

Thomas was ahead of him on that, nodding at the space on the floor at the near end of the dresser.

"My suitcase!" Darnell looked up at Thomas. "My car?"

"Towed over this morning. It's sitting in a spot in the car park just outside." Thomas gave him a smirk that was half-amused, half-apologetic. "I had to call a locksmith to get into the trunk. He should be back any time to rekey everything. Your old keys will probably be found by some bewildered boatman in the belly of a fish."

"Yup, probably." Levering himself to his feet, Darnell grabbed his suitcase and hoisted it to the bed, unlocking and opening it to pull out his toiletries bag and a change of clothes. He desperately needed a shower. A glance at the alarm clock on the side table between beds told him it was a little before noon.

"Here – you'll need these. No getting that wrist wet for at least another three days. Doc's orders."

Darnell caught the small plastic bag Thomas tossed to him. He didn't remember that part, about his wrist, but there was a lot about last night that he didn't clearly remember. Maybe it was something they told Thomas when they were being checked out. He looked in the bag to find a handful of latex gloves, a roll of surgical tape – presumably to seal the wrist of a glove to his forearm – and more gauze, bandaging, and ointment. He nodded and started for the bathroom again. "How long was I out?"

Thomas shrugged. "Fourteen, fifteen hours? We left the clinic about eight. You were out as soon as your arse hit the seat in the taxi. I got us a room here and managed to rouse you enough to get you out of the car and inside, but I don't think you ever properly woke up. Figured I'd let you be till noon or one before I knocked you up."

Darnell nearly dropped half his armload as he spun around, stunned by the comment. "Before you wha-?" And then the meaning - the British meaning - of that phrase caught up to him. The American detective had been working in Great Britain for seven years now, and yet people still managed to catch him off-guard with particularly British words and phrases on occasion. Sometimes, he thought Thomas did it to him on purpose.

Now, apparently, wasn't one of those times. Thomas gave him a frown of confusion at the reaction before the American sense of the phrase hit him. He laughed. "Cor blimey! You American blokes give everything a dirty turn, don't you? Go get your shower, you bugger."

Darnell grinned. "We're just making up for our uptight cous-!"

Thomas threw the pen from the desk's pad of paper at him, cutting him off. "Don't you finish that, Yankee!" he warned, laughing. "Naff off!"

Snickering, Darnell ducked into the bathroom.


	5. Sister's Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

"You know how some women like to complain that women's clothing must have been invented by men? Like bras and pantyhose? I swear the noose-as-a-fashion-accessory _has_ to have been some woman's idea of revenge." Finally feeling properly human again after a good, hot soak and a shave, Darnell was futzing with his tie. He paused, shifting his gaze in the mirror to look out the bathroom door into the rest of the hotel room behind him.

"Wouldn't surprise me," Thomas agreed with a chuckle and a shake of his head before returning his gaze to his laptop.

Darnell packed up the last of his toiletries and left the bathroom, tossing the bag onto his open suitcase before moving to sit on the end of the bed nearest the desk. "Must be a pretty fascinating read. You've been glued to that thing since before I woke up."

Thomas huffed, closing the laptop. "Reports from Manchester. This whole thing's even more balls up than I'd reckoned it’d be."

Darnell gave him a crooked grin. "Yup, I think you've said that once already."

Thomas gave him an absent 'Did I?' look, then shook his head. "C'mon, mate. How about we chat over lunch? I'm hungry, and I figure you must be too."

Darnell started to reply, but a gurgle from his stomach made his point for him. He felt his cheeks flush as he grinned. "Famished."

Thomas chuckled and shook his head, putting away the laptop while Darnell repacked his suitcase.

The locksmith had arrived while Darnell was in the shower. He was just finishing up as the two men approached from having checked out with the front desk. Thomas drove since Darnell wasn't presently legal to – not having any form of identification on him – and they relocated to a café down the street, ordering hot sandwiches and coffee.

Darnell had both hands wrapped covetously around his mug of heaven's brew. "Reports from Manchester?" he prompted after indulging in a long drink. He couldn't wait for the caffeine to kick in, despite the hours of sleep he'd gotten.

Thomas poked at his sandwich. "I asked for no tomatoes," he groused, amusing Darnell (the detective would never not find 'to-MAH-toes' funny). Thomas pulled the sandwich apart to remove the offending slices, nodding as he put the rest back together. "They have a Charlotte Caldwell in custody at the jail there in Manchester." He looked up at Darnell. "She's asking for you, wants you to visit her."

Darnell frowned, setting down his mug. He recalled his last exchange with her after he'd trapped her in the storage room at the asylum. They'd traded insults and arguments as he went through the carpet bag she'd left in the hall just outside the door. "Did they say what she wants?"

Thomas shook his head. "Just to talk to you." The officer's brow furrowed. "They say she’s hardly stopped crying since they found her."

"Crying?" That certainly didn't sound like the confident, angry, haughty young woman Darnell had butted heads with. "What'd you tell them?"

"That I'd talk to you about it." Thomas was frowning. "Frankly, I don't think it's a good idea . . . but there's a lot of stuff that just doesn't add up. She's changed her story, for one. She's not still accusing you of killing her sister. At first, she said it was 'Grandfather,' but now it's 'the dark, scary man'. And there's more. Darnell, she's claiming to be Charlotte Sommerset! That she and her sister are Rose Sommerset's daughters."

Darnell stared at his sandwich, no longer hungry. After a moment, he nodded. "Because she is." He'd found too much evidence to believe otherwise, despite the fact he didn't know how that could be possible. Then again, it 'wasn't possible' for spirits to be made flesh-and-blood again more than a century after their deaths. But such had been the fates of Rose and her eight-year-old twins, as well as Ravenhearst's ill-fated namesake, Emma. Darnell swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. "Alister did something to them, aged them somehow with his dark magic and twisted their minds."

"How? And why them?"

Darnell picked up his coffee mug again, rolled it back and forth between his hands. "Because he held power over anyone with his blood in their veins. Like he did to Derek last year, in Dire Grove." He looked up. "Thomas, Alister was their grandfather, like he was Derek and Peter's. Rose's husband wasn't the girls' father, Charles Dalimar was. I don't know if Charles seduced or even raped her and she never told anyone, or what. Considering this was the late eighteen-hundreds and Charles was a much more well-to-do person than she was, I wouldn't be surprised. Holding that secret over her might even have been what made her go work for him to take care of Emma. It also explains why he considered Rose and the girls part of his twisted family, and why he once told me that Rose was his first love, before Emma." Darnell frowned at a thought. "Has anyone checked on them? Rose and Emma?"

Darnell had rescued the newly-living women with his last investigation of Ravenhearst four years ago when he'd defeated – killed – Charles and his son Victor once and for all. When Charles' bizarre techno-magical machinery had embodied 'his family' as part of his plan to keep them with him forever. How Charles thought he'd manage that by returning them to mortal bodies, which by design would just die again sooner or later, Darnell had no idea. But the five of them – Darnell, Emma, Rose, Charlotte, and Gwendolyn – had escaped together as Charles' machinations exploded in gouts of fire. Darnell had brought the women back with him to London where, with the queen's personal blessing, Thomas had used his contacts to help them build new lives in the modern world.

Thomas's eyes were dark as he met Darnell's gaze. "After I got the report on Charlotte first thing this morning, I called the local constabularies where they live to have someone go check on them.  Emma's fine, but Rose . . . she was found dead in her home about three years ago. No sign of forced entry, no sign of struggle, no discernable wounds. The best the coroner could come up with was that her heart simply stopped, in sheer fright from the looks of her though that couldn't be proven."

Darnell's own heart twisted in his chest. An innocent life ended by violent tragedy . . . twice. "And the kids?"

"No sign of them. They were assumed to have run away shortly before or after their mother's death. They were searched for but never found. They were never serious suspects. They're still on the Missing Children watch list, but otherwise the case has been closed for almost two years."

Darnell dropped his head into both hands. "Blast it!" He peeked up at Thomas. " _Three years_ ago, you said?"

Thomas nodded, then frowned, guessing what was crossing Darnell's mind – and he was right. "Don't start, Barrett. No one holds you responsible for those women. You've already done far more for them than anyone could ever ask. Once they entered the subsidy program, they were the responsibility of the constables in charge of their cases. And I _will_ have the arse of whoever failed to report this case back to the Royal Agency, considering the special circumstances involved." He huffed, letting go of the anger for now, then ducked till he’d caught Darnell’s eye, holding his gaze. "It's not your fault, Darnell. Don't blame yourself for this. You have more than you ought of things as it is."

Darnell nodded, if reluctantly. "When we get to Manchester, I'd like to stop by and see Charlotte before we head south." He held up a hand before Thomas could protest. "Maybe I'm not responsible for her, but it still feels like something I need to do."

Thomas studied him a long moment before finally drawing a slow breath. "All right, mate. We'll make the stop. Eat up before it gets cold." He nodded at Darnell's plate.

The two finished lunch and hit the road in silence.


	6. True Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

Darnell wasn't sure what he expected to see when he stepped into the interrogation room at the Manchester Provincial Prison, but the sight of the young woman at the table wasn't it. Her blonde hair was a frizzy, unkempt mess, and when she raised her head from her folded arms, her makeup had been reduced to smears of blotchy color with her weeping, eyes red and face puffy. Charlotte was close in age to Darnell now, at least by physical appearances, but the gaze staring up at him was that of a frightened child.

"M-mister Darnell…" Her voice was higher in register than it had been last, again more child-like than the body it came out of.

Darnell's heart jumped into his throat. Four years ago, he'd told the children that it was okay to call him by his first name, and their mother had admonished them still to use "mister" out of respect. No one else had been present that day. No one else could have known that.

The detective moved to the table, sitting across from her and taking both her hands in his when she reached for him. "I'm here, Char. I'm here," he assured her, using the nickname she'd told him back then. "What happened? Do you remember?"

Charlotte shook her head, new sobs wracking her. Her hands were covered in black smudges of eyeliner and mascara, and she pulled one hand free to wipe at her eyes and cheeks with the back of it, adding new marks and seeming not to care about the worsened mess on her face. "M-mommy . . . h-he killed Mommy. A-and he took me and Gwennie and he hurt us and made us grow up really fast. And he made us fight a lot."

"Who? Who's 'he,' Char?" Darnell knew. He wanted to know how much she did.

"The dark, scary man. He made us call him Grandfather. He said he was Father's father, and he acted a lot like Father. We didn't like him, but he said we had to do what he told us. And after a little while, I-I wanted to. I don't want to now! B-but I did before. He made us do bad things. He made us hurt people." Her chin had tucked, but she peeked up at him, clinging to his hands as if she were afraid he'd leave if she didn't. Her voice was soft with fear and grief. "H-he made me hurt you. I-I'm so sorry for all the mean things I said!" She raised her head more, gaze pleading desperately. "Mister Darnell, I'm scared! I-I want to go home."

Darnell swallowed and reluctantly shook his head. "I . . . I don't know if that's possible, Char. But I'll see what I can do," he added quickly when her face scrunched up.

Charlotte sobbed. "Mommy's gone, and now so's Gwen! I-I felt her die. I felt it! Grandfather stabbed her and she died. And they're really gone now! Father wasn't here to catch them and make them stay. P-please . . . please, Mister Darnell, don't leave me alone!"

Heart wrenching anew, Darnell stood from the table, shifting around and gathering the frightened girl in his arms as she stood to meet him. Charlotte clung to him, weeping bitterly into his shoulder. He rubbed circles over her back. "I can't make any promises, Charlotte, but I will do what I can. I don't know how much I can do, a lot of bad things have happened – "

"I-I know . . . I-I did them! I did bad things and hurt people. For Grandfather. H-he made me do it!"

"I know he did. I know it was Alister who made you do all that. I know it wasn't you. You're a good girl, Char, you always have been. You and your sister looked out for me when you could. Do you remember?"

Charlotte nodded against his shoulder. "W-when we were still souls, after you freed us and Mommy and Miss Emma, and then Father tricked you into going back home to him. W-we tried to warn you, but y-you wouldn't listen." She pounded half-heartedly on the back of his shoulder with a fist.

Darnell huffed a low laugh. "No . . . no, I didn't. I really should have." He still suffered nightmares from the horrors Charles Dalimar had put him through. Though he imagined they were nothing compared to the nightmares that Charlotte would now suffer. The thought made him hug her tighter, and she responded, clinging harder.

A soft clearing of a throat behind Darnell made him shift back. Charlotte tucked to his side, and he wrapped a protective arm around her as he turned.

Thomas had been standing in the corner, observing. The look on his face was largely unreadable, but Darnell knew the man well enough to tell he was affected by what he'd witnessed. "Master Detective Barrett, a word?" He tilted his head at the door.

Darnell nodded, pulling reluctantly from Charlotte. She looked at him, scared and begging silently. He held her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back, I promise. Stay here and be good, all right."

Charlotte nodded. "Yes, sir." She moved to sit back down at the table, trembling and hugging herself.

Darnell gave her a last, concerned look before turning for the door with Thomas.


	7. Claimed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

Thomas followed Darnell out of the room, closing the door behind them. "Do you believe her?"

"Do you?"

Thomas paused, frowning at the door, then puffed out the breath he'd held. "Against my better judgment, but . . . yeah, mate. If I'm honest, I have to say I do."

"Alister did this. She may have been the instrument, but nothing she did was of her own accord. Her behavior now proves it. His hold on her is broken. Her body may still be a physical adult, but her mind, her personality, her very self has reverted back to her original self, her child self. She's not responsible for anything she did."

"Try telling that to the constables. Darnell, they have video proof of her breaking into Manchester Asylum and killing those orderlies. Not to mention being suspect in the disappearance of her husband Benedict and pretty much everyone who worked on the Ravenhearst restoration."

"I know, but-!" Darnell ran a hand back through his hair, thinking. He looked up at Thomas. "I can't just leave her here."

"You're going to have to, detective."

"Thomas, I'm all she has left!"

Thomas looked at him for a long moment, and Darnell couldn't read what was going on in his eyes. Finally, the officer looked at the door again, his shoulders sagging. "No, mate," he murmured. "You're not." He looked at Darnell. "We are." At Darnell's confused frown, he shook his head. "You're not the one who failed that poor girl. I did. Or anyway, the Agency did. You remember me telling them that they were safe now?"

"This isn't your fault, Thomas-"

"And it's not yours either." Thomas huffed another sigh. "I'm just the one who has to clean up the mess."

Darnell felt both apologetic and appreciative at that. "You should be used to that by now." His agent handler had covered for him on things enough times. Just last night, most recently.

Thomas gave him a crooked grin. "I ought to let them lock you back up in that nuthouse, kid. Get you out of my hair but good."

Darnell knew Thomas was only teasing, but the thought of having to go back to the asylum made him shudder with very real horror nonetheless. He was hugging himself before he realized what he was doing. "Don't even joke about that, Blackwell. That place is an inhuman nightmare. I can't believe such a medieval horror even still exists in this day and age of modern mental health medicine. It should be torn down!"

Thomas frowned, realizing his mistake. He gave Darnell's shoulder a supportive squeeze. "Easy, easy . . . sorry, that was incredibly poor form. Forget I said it."

"If I never set foot in this entire province again, it'll be too soon."

"Can't say I blame you. Go stay with Charlotte while I make a few phone calls, see what strings I can pull."

"Thanks, Thomas."

Thomas gave him a wry grin. "Thank me after I actually manage to pluck a helpful string. Go on."

Darnell nodded and headed back into the interrogation room. Charlotte looked up at him, fear and question in her eyes. Darnell pulled a chair around next to her. She leaned into him when he sat down, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Officer Blackwell is making some phone calls. He'll come in and let us know when he has some news."

Charlotte nodded and curled against him. After a moment, she shifted as if remembering something. "Grandfather marked you too . . . didn't he?"

Darnell frowned as he looked at her. "Marked me?" He thought uneasily of the brand on his arm.

Charlotte sat up, unbuttoned the cuff around her right wrist, and pulled the sleeve up to expose the inside of her forearm. Darnell stared in shock at the stylized raven skull branded there. She traced her fingers down the long, wicked beak. "Gwennie has one too, and Grandfather said he was going to mark you as well, to tie you to him like we were. Us because we're family, but you he just . . . he wanted to punish. For besting him at the carnival and in Dire Grove."

Darnell hesitated, then pulled back from her, lifted his own sleeve, and began unwinding the bandaging that wrapped him from palm to just short of his elbow. Charlotte's hand went to her mouth with a soft "oh!" as the detective's brand came more and more into view with each pass of the winding bandage.

When he was done, Charlotte delicately touched the brand, then brushed her fingertips next to the gash in the heel of his palm. "Is this . . . from the Ball of Fate?"

"Yup, from the shard that hit me when things blew up. The one that went into the storage room when I got transferred to the asylum from the hospital."

New tears slipped down the young woman's cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mister Darnell. I'm so sorry he hurt you. That _we_ hurt you."

Darnell wrapped his near arm around her again, snugging her to him as he kissed her temple. "It's over now. It's in the past, and I don't blame you for any of it, Char. Alister's the one who did all this. To both of us. And he's gone for good now. He can't hurt me or you ever again."

Charlotte nodded and huddled back into his side, one hand fisted loosely on his shirt.

It was nearly an hour before the door opened once more. Thomas paused to take in the sight before moving to sit down across from the two, addressing Charlotte. "I need to get Master Detective Barrett back to London and get some things straightened out for him. That may take as long as into tomorrow. But I will be back, day after at the latest. I'll be bringing another officer of the Royal Agency with me who believes he can help with your case."

"Wordlaw?"

Thomas gave Darnell a nod. Albert Wordlaw was the Royal Agency's foremost expert on hypnosis, drug-induced compulsion, and other forms of persuasion, manipulation, and brainwashing. He was a dour skeptic when it came to the paranormal, but he was a dedicated operative and very good at what he did.

Darnell looked at Charotte. "Officer Wordlaw is a good man. If anyone can help you, he can. I'll be back, too."

"No, you will not." Thomas's firm tone startled Darnell. The look on the agent handler's face brooked no argument. "You will stay home to rest and recover from this ordeal while your cards and your badge and all the rest of your identification are replaced. You'll work on your reports for the agency and for Her Majesty."

Darnell exchanged looks with Charlotte, not wanting to abandon her, but he knew Thomas was right. At length, he gave a reluctant nod.

Thomas's tone softened. "I'll look after her, Darnell. You have my word."

Darnell looked at Charlotte. She was still visibly scared, but she'd calmed down and was gazing at Thomas, trusting and reassured. Darnell nodded at his friend. "I know you will. Thank you, Thomas."


	8. Ravenhearst Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.

Darnell stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor of the apartment building and counted down doors to one halfway along the hall. He brushed his fingers over the narrow plate on the door, remembering the conversation four years ago that had led to the name engraved on its face.

_"I imagine you'll want to change your name, after everything that's happened."_

_"Yes, I believe it would be for the best."_

_"Any preferences?"_

_"I haven't really thought about it. I don't know." She looked up at him. "Do you have any suggestions?"_

_He put up both hands, deferring with a grin. "Not my choice, miss. I'm not the one who'll have to live with it."_

_"I . . . I suppose it would be untoward if I were to ask the honor of sharing yours," she asked, demure. Then her eyes widened as she realized what she was seeming to propose, even as he gave her a surprised, arched look. "I don't . . . I don't mean it like that! I-I'm sorry."_

_He chuckled. "It's fine."_

_She thought a moment. "If I may . . . what was your mother's name? Her maiden name?"_

Darnell swallowed, fingers brushing the nameplate a moment longer. His mother had been killed in an armed robbery when he was a young teen. He'd been honored for the woman now living in the apartment to share her maiden name and thought his mother would have to. Stepping back, he rang the doorbell.

"Coming!" came the muffled reply from somewhere within. A moment later, the door opened.

Darnell studied the young woman before him. She appeared to be in her early twenties. Considering the era, the detective thought she couldn't have been but sixteen or eighteen when she'd originally come to England as a teacher. She wore a skirt, which he'd half-expected, but it was strange – pleasing but strange – to see the very modern, comparatively-revealing top she wore above it, with its short sleeves and the V-neck that showed her collarbones. She'd cut her dark auburn hair much shorter than it'd been, just brushing the tops of her shoulders.

Her blue-green eyes widened in pleasant surprise at the sight of him. "Master Detective!"

Darnell remembered his fedora, snatching it off his head as he dipped slightly in a nod of greeting. "Ms. Cotrona."

"Oh, no . . . no, sir. Emma, please. I think you've earned some familiarity, at least."

The detective gave her a lopsided grin. "At least. Darnell, then."

Emma's own grin widened. "Darnell. Of course." She looked him up and down. "My goodness, it's so good to see you." From her stance, Darnell guessed that it was only her Victorian sensibilities that kept her from moving to embrace him or even offer her hand.

"You too, Emma." _Oh, Victorian sensibilities be damned!_ Darnell thought, reaching to pull the young woman into a hug. _Oh my goodness,_ _I'm so glad to see you're all right!_ He managed to keep that inside for now, not wanting to dump on her everything he'd been through over the past several days, or what had happened to Rose and the girls.

Emma startled, but then she was clinging back just as hard. "I've missed you so, my dear friend," she whispered against his shoulder after a moment.

"I've missed you too. I'm so sorry I've not come to visit sooner. I should have been checking on you regularly, seen how you've been doing…"

"No . . . no, Darnell, you've already done so much for me! I could never ask you to do more." She stepped back to better make her point but caught her breath when she got a look at his face. She searched his eyes, finally commenting in a soft voice. "Something's happened." There was no question in her tone.

Darnell blinked in surprise, then huffed a soft, sardonic laugh. "Yeah . . . a lot of something." He looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to trouble you. I just happened to be in the area and thought I'd drop by to say hello." That wasn't true at all. He'd been struggling to concentrate on his reports when he finally gave up and jumped in his car to drive to Warwick, a town just south of Birmingham, specifically to see for himself that at least one of the quartet of former spirits was yet unscathed by Alister’s evil.

Emma studied him, then smiled gently, brushing his cheek with her fingers. "Darnell, you don't have to lie to protect me."

Darnell shifted. "I…" He shrugged and shook his head, offering a rueful grin. "You've suffered enough. Like I said, I don't want to trouble you."

"Trouble me, my dear friend. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me." She stepped back, beckoning. "Can I invite you in for tea? In fact, you'd be welcome to stay for dinner, if you have time. I haven't started anything yet, so it'd be quite easy to fix enough for two."

"I'd love that, Emma. Thank you."

She smiled, and the genuine brightness in her eyes after all the pain and grief she'd been through did more to set Darnell at ease than he had anticipated. "No, Darnell, thank _you_. For coming to see me. We have so much to catch up on."

He stepped past her and she closed the door behind him. He'd only meant to stop by for a few minutes before turning around to head back home, but his reports could wait another day.

This visit was too long overdue, and he intended to fully make up for the last four years. For Emma, and for the lives he'd failed by not doing this sooner.

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Fun Facts: "Cotrona" as a name may seem out of the blue, but there's a story behind it. ^,^ If you're familiar with the blogging site (and popular site for text-based RPGs), Dreamwidth, feel free to go look at "neverasked4this", which is my rp account for Darnell. Needing a PB (played-by) for him for icons, I found actor DJ Cotrona and am really happy with him as the face of my version of the Master Detective. (neverasked4this [dot] dreamwidth [dot] org [slash] profile and ………[slash] icons). In trying to come up with a name for Emma to take, discarding the last vestiges of her ties to that unholy manor, I couldn't come up with anything I liked and finally figured…why not? ^__^


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